Sanction
by Rowana Renee
Summary: When Will suffers a brutal attack from two people only he can identify, but then refuses to name them, Gilan finds himself caught in a strange and potentially deadly situation, especially when the wounded apprentice turns up on his doorstep with an unnerving request. Rated for Will!Torture, angsty Halt, and a Gilan that's torn between what's best for Will and what he knows is right
1. Swear an Oath

**This story is the product of angsty feels. Not going to say over WHAT, only that there's a specific reason I'm posting this and not Guardian Ranger right now. The very thought of writing fluff makes me want to throw up on my keyboard at the moment. Not that I'm opposed to reading fluff...exactly...just...yeah. As a little note- the story won't be formatted weird for the whole thing. Just this first chapter. After that, it'll be normal third person past tense. **

**So, anyway- I just reread Ranger's Apprentice book one, and I'm all...well...Amazed, actually. Book one...wow. Having read the whole series a couple of times already...knowing where and who the characters are by the end...it's just a really interesting thing to go all the way back to the beginning. Sooooooooo yeah. Don't know why I included that...If you want to include some oreos or Nutella in your review, that's fine. Just, please leave a review. Or I'll get really mad. And if you review, please don't just say "I like it" Or "I hate it. This is freaking terrible" please tell me WHY you like it. A part you ENJOYED. OR, on the other side, please politely tell me what you think is wrong with it. Politely. Or odds are I'll either yell at you and run away crying, or just ignore you. Or post an intentionally trolling chapter for spite. Because I'm that mature. Anyway, without further delay, I give you:**

* * *

~Sanction~

Prologue: Swear an Oath

He's alone.

_Halt stands in his kitchen, waiting for the water to boil so he can make a pot of coffee. He looks out the window, his expression grim and tired. He woke in a panic not fifteen minutes ago, the cause unknown. Doing a circuit of the house, he found it empty aside from himself. No intruders, nothing obviously amiss. Yet he'd only had two hours of sleep, meaning that his usual waking hour was quite some time away. He never woke more than a few minutes before or after that time unless something was terribly wrong. So why now? He couldn't find any obvious answer, yet all thoughts of sleep had been banished almost instantly. _

_His mind is on high alert, his heart hammering in his chest and his breath hitching every time he tries to relax. He feels odd- feverish, even. But he isn't ill. There's no deep-set ache in his bones beyond what he's accustomed to from his older years. And the feeling in his stomach isn't nausea. It's more like a cold, twisting hand clawing its way toward his heart, a feeling he can't quite put a name to. _

_That's a lie and he knows it. _

_The water boiled several minutes ago, and now it's rolling, threatening to spill over the sides of its vessel. He takes no notice for a moment, continuing to stare almost blindly out the window, noting to himself that it's a strange night. Dark. No sign of the moon, even the stars are covered in the thick gray blanket caused by the clouds. They're huge, swollen with rain that's long overdue but still refuses to fall. _

_Glancing down at the water, Halt sighs deeply. Something's _wrong_. He can feel it. _

_Making the coffee in silence, he realises one part of the problem._

_While checking the house for intruders, he actually checked Will's room to make sure the boy was okay. There would normally be no problem there, except that Will wasn't here. He wouldn't be here for at least another week. Halt knew this, but had checked anyway. He could tell himself it was because he needed to check all rooms, but he knew the real reason. _

_Maybe that's what's wrong with him. _

_"You old fool," he murmurs, pouring the coffee into a mug and carrying it with him to his chair by the fireplace, setting it on the table nearby before sitting down and picking up one of the reports he's been avoiding reading. He's being ridiculous, worrying over his apprentice. If that's the true cause of his anxiety. He supposes that slight nervousness is well founded- it's Will's first solo mission, after all. He has a right to be ever so slightly on edge. Has a right to hope his apprentice does well. The end of this year will also be the end of Will's apprenticeship. The gathering this year will decide whether he becomes a fully-fledged ranger or remains as an apprentice for another year. This mission is a test, and could potentially serve as a boost of confidence, proving even before the gathering that he's ready. Mostly, Halt knows, Will needs to convince himself that he can handle it before convincing any of the other rangers. _

_Not that it's a terribly dangerous task. Will probably could have taken care of it by himself at least two years ago, had there been a need. Go into a village- albeit a village that's decidedly far from home, a little too far for Halt's liking- and sort out a thief who had proven ready to murder as well. It was only one man, one who was just skilled enough to get himself into trouble. It said quite a lot that Crowley and Halt had decided not to even send a second ranger behind in case Will _couldn't_ handle it. _

_If anything, Halt expects Will to return early. _

_But if he's so thoroughly convinced that his apprentice isn't in any danger, why does he feel like this?  
_

* * *

The worst part is that he has no one to blame but himself.

He had finished the mission flawlessly. So perfectly that he knew he could look forward to at least sparing praise from Halt. That thought had contributed greatly to his current situation. He'd been so eager to get back to Redmont that he'd decided not to stay at the inn in town, but to head out early, continuing to travel until sunset, when he'd finally stopped to set up an actual campsite.

He had gone through all the motions, checking to make sure there was no immediate danger, but looking back on it, his guard had been down the entire time. He hadn't expected to encounter anything wrong, once the initial mission was over, therefore he'd been unprepared when it had arrived.

Letting Tug graze, he'd talked to the pony as usual, not hearing anything amiss in the whickered replies or the gentle snorting sounds made by the little horse. It had all seemed normal as, once the sun had set and plunged them both into darkness, he'd lain down to sleep. He'd still been able to feel the adreniline from the last moments of the actual mission. It had been difficult, as the man had fought back with surprising strength, and Will had been determined not to kill him- the task was only to aprehend him and see him to jail for the fief's authorities to take care of, after all- but he'd eventually gotten it done.

Though, when recounting the tale to Halt, he fully intended not to mention how close he'd come to being killed.

It had taken him a long time to fall asleep, but when he finally did, it seemed like he'd only been asleep for a moment when he was awakened by Tug nudging his shoulder.

There, he'd done everything right that he could, keeping his eyes closed and maintaining deep, even breaths as if still asleep, listening to the approach of soft footsteps. He'd figured out that there were two people nearby, obviously attempting to avoid detection. He'd managed to grab his saxe knife, finally opening his eyes by a fraction to see them.

Part of what took him by surprise was the fact that the first man went for Tug, not attacking the pony himself, but grabbing the reins and dodging quickly out of reach before moving to a tree and tangling them in it, his hands moving deftly until the reins were knotted in several places. He was looping a short length of rope through the tangled mess when Will leapt to his feet, lunging for the other man and tackling him head on, knife at the ready.

Strike first, Halt had told him.

But technically, he was striking second.

Now, Tug's screams reach his ears as the cloaked figure rolls with the impact, landing on top of him, flipping him over onto his back before straddling him and punching him in the face, one blow after another, in quick succession that leaves him gasping, dazed and barely able to move for several seconds.

Long enough.

Hands grab at the front of his shirt, dragging him up into a half-sitting position while the man looms close, his face barely an inch from Will's own. It's too dark to tell, but he thinks he sees a flash of white as the man gives him a savage grin, his breath warm on Will's face, his grip like iron.

"Miss me, baby?"

He doesn't know the voice. It stirs a vague memory, but he can't recall where from, or why. There's no face that he can put with the voice, no name, no location. The only thing he knows about that voice is that, whoever its owner is, is an enemy. He flinches, but the man drags him closer.

* * *

_Halt wants to throw the report across the room. Or better, into the fireplace. He gives the smoldering coals a dirty look, wondering if there's enough heat left to burn the paper. He's been staring at it, blankly, for nearly an hour now. He wonders if he's just getting old. If he's about to die. His heart's beating too fast, his blood rushing through his veins. He feels dizzy. Wrong. Like he's just seen something he shouldn't have. _

_It's a strange kind of numbness, like someone close to him has died. _

_But it's not like that. It's like...anger...burning through him even as the world turns to ice. He's felt this before, but sees no reason for it now. _

_The coffee has gone cold, having sat ignored ever since he first put it on the table. It spilled slightly when he set it there, and had formed an ugly ring on top of the book it was on top of. He doesn't even know why he has the damned book. Lord knows he's never read it. Never intends to read it. He stands up with a groan, continuing to ignore the coffee, and walks back to the kitchen to look out the window. _

_Still dark. _

_He walks back to his chair, then back to the window. Pacing doesn't help, but it's was something. He feels restless, like he should be out doing something much more important right now. It isn't quite the same feeling he would have had had he forgotten something. No, he knows this feeling. He's become sickly familiar with it over the years, the past few years especially. He had hoped that it would fade beyond his recognition with time, but it's only become more aggressive. _

_Shoving it down, he hisses his annoyance and walks to the rack where his cloak hangs, jerking it down and putting it on in one swift motion before yanking his door open and stepping outside. _

_He can almost taste the blood on the air. _

_Closing his eyes, he breathes deeply through his mouth. It's a strange night. Too warm for this cloak. But right now, he thinks it would be wrong not to wear it. _

_His thoughts are clouded as much as the sky, and he finds himself pushing them aside with a little too much irritation as he walks to the stable. This feeling is the same one that he felt all those years ago._

_That he'd nearly forgotten until he was watching a wild boar barrel headlong toward his apprentice. The boy armed with only a knife, fifteen years old and trying to face death like a man for someone he'd known only animosity toward until, it seemed, mere moments ago._

_The feeling had resurfaced in a daze of blind fury when he'd found his apprentice in the clearing, about to be throttled with the boy he'd saved by three boys who were meant to be training to become knights. _

_He'd felt it again upon learning how close the boy had come to being killed by the kalkara. _

_It had been the most present, and the most torturous, when he'd watched the boy he'd come to love as a son slowly vanishing from view aboard a Skandian Wolf Ship. The feeling of absolute helplessness was the worst, tearing through him for over a year afterward. Haunting him with every day of their separation. _

_Again when he thought he'd found the boy, only to lose him again to a Temujai arrow. He'd felt that dizzying moment of relief only moments after the initial panic, seeing that the arrow had missed. _

_Again and again throughout the years of Will's apprenticeship, he'd felt those moments of terror that he couldn't counter. They were at their worst when there wasn't a blessed thing he could do. He'd felt it many times while Gilan was his apprentice, as well. But whoever it was for, it was something he hated. _

_And he knows for a fact that it always surfaced when someone he cares deeply for is in danger, or has been in danger, and it's either too late or would be extremely difficult to do anything to fix it. _

_Why then? Why now? He knows Will is safe. He knows with even more so that Gilan is safe. _

_He's being foolish, he chides himself again, and walks faster to the stable._

* * *

The air is being sucked from his lungs, replaced with a shocking impact and the metallic flavour of blood coating his teeth and tongue. It feels like he's been hit in the face with a flying stone, only it's so much worse than that. Fingers pull sharply at his hair and he feels something choking him. He can't speak, but he groans in protest, arching his back and flailing wildly to escape. It's a vain attempt- he knows that even before he tries. Eyes squinted shut, he bucks helplessly against the weight that pins him down.

The world spins regardless of the fact that he can't see it, and for a moment everything is white before he's gasping in air that's thick and cloying, burning in his throat. It tastes foul, but he doesn't care. The same force hits him again a moment later though, lasting much longer this time, until the only sounds he can make are strangled whimpers as he claws pathetically at his attacker's chest until he's sure he's dying.

He can make out the sounds of laughter when he's allowed to breathe this time, and is dimly aware of someone gripping him by the shoulders as the weight leaves him. He's hauled mercilessly to his feet, shoved forward, staggering, trying to find his balance so he can fight back, but he can barely see. It's ironic, he thinks. Earlier he'd observed that it was a strange night. The air was damp, even sticky, and there was a heavy, stiff fog covering the ground, fat clouds over the moon and stars. There was a breeze, but it felt artificial somehow, hot and, if anything, hollow, vanishing the moment you try to breathe it.

This time, he's the one laughing. A high, humourless laugh that comes as a keening moan. He'd thought that it felt like he was on the edge of a storm that it might be better to hide from than attempt to weather.

He hadn't expected to be right.

Now weaponless, he first sees his attacker, then the knife on the ground. He doesn't care anymore. Blood drips down his chin. His lips are torn, bitten through, with more blood welling with every beat of his heart. He tries and fails to calm his nerves, knowing he neeeds to focus. Pain racks him as he lunges toward the man in the black cloak, not caring whether he reaches him or the knife first. Either will do.

He hears a snapping sound upon impact and knows it isn't a bone. His teeth jar painfully, his tongue caught between them, chin coming in hard contact with the ground as he falls. There's a moment where he thinks he'll make it, fighting the man tooth and nail for control of the knife. But then something hits his back, something hard. Wooden. He doesn't care. He needs that knife. Needs it desperately. His fingers close around it and he rolls over onto his back, bringing the blade up to protect himself.

It does no good. There are blows raining down from all directions. His face, chest, both arms...relentless punishment for an unknkown crime. He doesn't know what these people want, but he's beginning to feel that they'll get it.

He can still hear Tug's frantic braying, but it seems a long way away as he finally manages to rake the knife down someone's leg, blood spraying his arm. The man curses, and something catches him hard in the chest.

Then his wrists are being forced down to either side of his head, held there by someone he can't see, leaving him fully exposed.

Dimly, he realises that the weapon he's being hit with is own bow, snapped almost in half. He doesn't know exactly what damage it's causing, but he can tell it's bad. He's trying not to cry, but tears cloud his vision anyway.

This is his fault, and he doesn't even remember how anymore.

Finally, the blows stop and he's able to roll over, get to his hands and knees, panting, wondering if it's over, praying that it is. His head is low to the ground, but he can still feel the hands near him, ready to begin again at any moment. The voices are somewhere above him, blending into one and distorted into some language that he doesn't quite understand. He can make out a few words, but everything is amplified. His heart throbs wildly in his ears, and he can hear his own ragged breathing. He can feel their laughter through his hands, the sound of it reverberating through his entire body.

"Baby doesn't remember," one of the voices sneers, "What do you think we should do about that?"

Something crashes into one of his hands, and this time he knows something's broken.

"I think we should remind him," the other voice replies.

Then he's on his feet again, and begging is an option.

* * *

_Halt enters the stables mutely, pausing as he enters. He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, noticing that his hands are shaking. He feels bloodless, almost. Hoping it's a sign that this strange feeling can, for once, be attributed to actual sickness instead of unfounded worry. He walks further into the darkness, the sound of Abelard's breathing reassuring him for a moment. _

_The horse snorts loudly as he gets closer, stamping at the ground and leaning his head out of the stall to butt his head into Halt's shoulder. The ranger stiffens. Does the animal really seem agitated, or is he mistaken? If Abelard feels uneasy as well, that means something could very well be wrong. Ranger horses are trained to remain calm unless..._

_Halt shrugs off the feeling, stroking Abelard's neck and murmuring gently. The horse relaxes, but watches Halt carefully, ever intelligent eyes seeming to reflect Halt's own thoughts. _

_Or Halt's imagining them to do so because he wants his fears to be confirmed or denied, one way or the other, and at least a confirmation will prove he's sane. But what then? Even if he did find out that it was founded, it wouldn't matter, because there wouldn't be anything he could do. What _could_he do, rush to Castle Redmont and demand to speak with the baron? Intercept Will on his way home?_

_He frowns contemplatively, rubbing his fingers behind Abelard's ear and allowing the very ghost of a smile to flicker on his lips. "You must be an old fool as well, you know." he says softly, and the horse neighs in response, tossing his head and stamping again._

_"What should I do then," Halt whispers, "admit I worry about him, even when I can see him? Go find him and tell him he's not allowed to have his own post, because I can't handle it?"_

_Abelard turns his head to the side and regards him through one eye, bobbing his head and leaning closer to Halt. He certainly sounds irritated, and Halt's brief sense of peace vanishes as the horse nudges him insistantly in the chest, even biting the loose fabric of his shirt and tugging lightly._

_Scowling, Halt rubs the animal's nose and looks away, toward the yard. It's impossible, he thinks. There's no way he could actually know if anything was wrong. He couldn't predict the future or predict what was going on right this moment beyond what he could actually see. It was ridiculous. Odds were, he reasoned, that Abelard was simply picking up on his own feelings and assumed that something actually was wrong, because rangers were trained to remain calm unless..._

_Halt looks the horse in the eye again, tilting his head back as Abelard tosses his mane once more, snuffling loudly. "You have too much faith in me, boy. I'm senile. I rely on you for guidance, don't you know that?"_

_The only reply is another nudge, this one harder than ever._

* * *

His cloak is gone, and he almost finds himself grateful, except that despite the heat, he's shivering from head to foot. Quaking as he curls in on himself, cowering and begging _someone_, _anyone_, to help him. He'd thought the initial thrashing would never end, but they flayed him until his entire body felt raw, and he had, once, passed out for a few moments. It turned out to be more of a curse than respite, because when he awakened, everything only hurt more.

He's too exhausted to protest as one of them grabs him, dragging him by the back of the collar of his shirt because they all know he can't walk. When they let go of him, he seems to fall for an eternity. Their words are beyond his comprehension, but there's something rough and wooden beneath him, pressing against his bruised ribs and turning every breath into agony.

Unable to keep from sobbing as they continue, he claws at the bark in front of him, his fingers already bloody, the nails torn down to the quick. One hand barely moves, already badly broken, the fingers twisted violently until the man holding him finally grew bored with that particular torment.

Though now, Will almost thinks he prefers that.

He's barely coherent, has no knowledge of what they're doing now, only that it hurts, as everything they've done has. This is worse on so many levels, though, because he can't see them, can't feel anything properly because the pain is so all consuming that it dulls all other sensations. He can still hear them laughing, can occasionally feel a hand shaking him, but everything else is a hideous blur.

Perhaps the most painful is the fact that he doesn't know _why_.

He'd asked, at some point, but the only reply had been their scornful laughter and a renewed brutality to their every movement.

He knows who they are now, but it still makes no sense.

Or maybe it does. He doesn't know anymore.

"_Please_," he doesn't so much say the word as mouth it, lips barely parting as he does so.

For a moment, it's like an answer to a prayer. Everything slows to a standstill, and a finger, slick with blood, is under his chin, tilting his head up while the face of one of his attackers comes entirely too close, swimming in front of him. It's lighter now, he thinks, but he isn't sure. Beneath the hood, he can see the vaguest details of a crooked nose and bright eyes. Too bright. Insane. Derranged. Sadistic.

The mouth moves, but there's no sound. He sees a faint welt on the man's cheek where he's managed to scratch him, but the man is speaking to him, and he can't even hear the words, and that's all he can concentrate on.

And then they're gone, and he's still laying limply where they left him. Over. In a heartbeat, and he still doesn't know why. He doesn't know if they've taken anything. Well, he knows they've taken plenty from him, but as for things they can actually carry with them, he isn't so sure.

He can't move, can hardly breathe, can only lay there, tears still forming, stinging as they run into the open wounds on his face. He's in hysterics before he realises it, sobbing hard and unable to stop. He chokes, panicking still more when he realises what exactly they've done to him. He doesn't know if he's actually lost it or if this is just the temporary result, but the one thing that he can see clearly through the haze of terror and pain, is that Halt will be furious.

It was the first thought he'd had when Evanlyn had told him about the warmweed.

It's the only coherent, fully formed thought he has now.

Whimpering, he still can't help but wish Halt was here with him. Halt can fix anything, make anything well again. It's childish, but if anything that's all he wants. He wants Halt to be here and tell him it's alright, and that it's over and will be okay, that this isn't his fault.

But it is, because he let his guard down.

There were only two of them!

He's fought more and made it out unscathed! So why _now_? Just because he thought he recognised their voices? Why?

Once again, he hears Tug, and the tears come faster.

Have they hurt Tug? If he's caused Tug to be injured as well, he knows that Halt might forgive him, but he'll never forgive himself. Slowly, wheezing with the effort, he drags himself backward until his forhead rests against the fallen log. He stays there for a moment, eyes closed, until he thinks he's about to keel over from sheer exhaustion. He can't stand up, doesn't even want to try, but he can crawl on his hands and knees until he finds the knife.

When he does, he's paralysed for another eternity until he can force one hand around the hilt and find Tug.

It's the most difficult thing he's ever done, but he holds onto the tree the pony is tied to and levers himself to his feet, screaming and all but collapsing against the waiting pony, who immediately nuzzles him all over, even more frantic than before now that he can see- and all but feel- the true extent of the damage done to his rider. Still leaning heavily on Tug, Will manages to cut the reins free of the knots holding them in place. The aftermath is effective without a moment's pause.

He slumps against Tug, and the pony goes slowly, carefully to his knees, waiting until Will can crawl onto him and find a way to hold on. He knows he won't have to hold on, because Tug won't let him fall, but at the same time, he _has to hold on_.

Then he's free to forget about everything but the pain as Tug walks. He trusts the pony's instincts to take him somewhere safe, anywhere safe, and doesn't doubt for a moment that, in one way at least, it'll be okay.

* * *

_When Halt finally sleeps, he finds nightmares waiting for him. _

_Shadowed, nameless figures, closing in on him from all directions. They're telling him everything he's never wanted to hear, their voices coming in grating, nerve-wracking screeches. He tries not to hear them, but can't help but listen. _

_He needs to know. _

_They tell him everything but what can help him, the information useless and grim. They tell him that his apprentice has been captured, is being tortured, but they don't say where he is or who he's been captured by. At first, he assumes it's Morgarath. But then he remembers that Morgarath is dead. Then he thinks it's the Skandians until he remembers that that's over. _

_But is it over? He doesn't suppose it ever ends. Will hasn't told him everything, a fact he's all too aware of. From what he knows about the Skandians, he can put together a grisly enough picture of what went on while he wasn't there to stop it, but he needs to hear it from Will, needs to know that his apprentice has found a way to deal with what happened other than by hiding it until it can attack him again later on, when he doesn't see it coming._

_He needs to know Will trusts him enough to tell him what happened. He has a feeling he wouldn't even know about the warmweed had it not been for Evanlyn, and it disturbs him greatly. _

_Not as much as these voices, though. They get louder with every passing second, their jeers becoming unbearable to the point where Halt brings his bow to full draw, firing arrows into the crowd of shadows until he runs out. They don't change a thing. If anything, the tormenters find it amusing. _

_They show him everything he's ever imagined. Both of his apprentices, alone, tortured, calling for him. But he's too far away to be of any help until it's too late. They can't hear him when he swears that he's sorry he can't protect them, says that there's nothing he can do. They do ask why, though, like it's his choice. _

_It should make him angry, but it doesn't._

_It terrifies him._

* * *

Gilan wakes for no reason he can name. He listens carefully, finding no foreign footsteps or other sounds he doesn't recognise, and crawls out of bed without a sound, taking up his sword and quietly exiting the bedroom, a small frown furrowing his brow. There's no one in the house but him, he finds. For a moment, he considers going back to bed, when he happens to hear it.

Neighing. Absolute. Frenzied. Neighing.

Blaze and, he realises, a second horse. They sound panicked, wild, almost.

Alarmed, he steps into his boots and throws the door open, hurrying outside. The sight he finds chills him to the bone.

Tug. His fur covered in blood. That in itself is disturbing, but even more so when Gilan realises whose blood it is. He sees the still figure on the horse's back for barely a moment before the boy starts to fall. In a moment, he's gathering Will into his arms, looking at him in shock. There's so much blood. The boy is hardly recognisable, his face bruised and bleeding, the rest of him not looking much better.

"Oh my god, Will..." Gilan breathes, unable to move for several moments.

His training kicks in soon, though, and he looks around, scanning for signs of danger that may have followed the young ranger. He doesn't know what could have led to Will's being here, but whatever it was can't be anything good.

Satisfied that there's no threat, he carries Will into the house. He can worry about Tug later, and he knows the horse won't wander. Will stirs faintly in his grasp, cringing in pain and, when his eyes flicker open, struggles against him, kicking and clawing, writhing against Gilan with every ounce of strength he has left. Gilan hates to do it, fearing to hurt him further, but tightens his grip until he can get the boy to the couch, setting him down as gently as possible.

For a moment, he has to physically restrain Halt's apprentice, trying to whisper comfort but knowing the words make no difference. When Will looks at him, though, he can see the recognition after several seconds pass, and Will falls limp.

He gently brushes the hair away from Will's eyes, noting with concern that they're red, slightly swollen, and the skin around them is torn. "Will?" He says, growing unease evident in his voice, "Who did this to you?"

Will stares at him, his entire body wracked with tremours so violent that it looks like they should hurt, and in a voice so quiet Gilan can barely hear him, whispers three words that unnerve him even more than the inital sight of the blood:

"Don't tell Halt."

* * *

**Dude. That took...like...hours *Faints with a pained moaning noise* Dx**

**Anyways, feel free to speculate in your reviews. Also, I did say at some point in this obnoxiously long ramble that Will's quite some time away from Redmont, so I decided that he's closer to Merric Fief. Also, don't worry about Tug. He gets taken care of in the next chapter. Ahem. Most of what EXACTLY happened to Will is up to whatever your brilliantly evile minds can conjur up, but I think you get the gist. Poor baby got the beating of his life *Sniff/teardrop* and he's extremely freaked out. Which gives me an excuse to have him be ever so slightly and angstily OOC for a little while. Don't worry. It won't be too bad.**

**But yeah, this is it so far! A little peek at what you can expect:**

**Next chapter: More "Don't tell Halt" and Wirru general adorableness. Concerned!Gil *Concerned isn't a strong enough word* TUG! Angsty!Halt! PAULINEISMS! And basically stuff.**

**For the plot overall...don't you worry, my good readers, there will be investigation over who did this to Wirru. Made difficult by the fact that DNA testing does not exist yet, but still. It'll happen. If you'd like to speculate, you'll get three points and a coffee if you figure it out, and you can expect a special guest appearence from a character that only I love. *Yes, I think that George is included in the list of characters that only I love, but the list is not limited to him* Sooooooooo hope you enjoy, and please leave a review telling me what you think, even if it's headed with something like "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" *Please. Say something besides JUST that, though...* ^_^**


	2. Everything Alright

A/N: Hello all! Sorry for the extreme delay in updating; it seems a sad characteristic of mine to leave readers hanging for far too long, and for that I sincerely apologise. However, now the inspiration has again struck me to write, so hopefully this chapter will make up for the extended absence. I shall also work on another chapter for Guardian Ranger while I'm here, possibly a few others as well.

Think of this one as a filler- you'll get the TUG! And Paulineisms in the next one. This was just for fluff and to get me going again. Next chapter, which will be a real chapter, will contain another crisis and maybe even some epic Halt action.

Happy New Year, by the way. ^_^

* * *

Chapter One: Everything Alright

Time came to a complete stop as Gilan looked into his friend's eyes, as the words fully registered. A million thoughts went through his mind at once, each more devastating and confusing than the last, each spinning into its own wild hypothesis about what could possibly inspire such a request. The look of pure desperation made him shudder. It looked as if Will had crossed hell itself to get here, a fresh curtain of tears already on the verge of falling.

Gil swallowed, hard, and tried to put on the face of calm assurance he'd seen Halt use before. He could see that the initial hysteria hadn't worn off, though shock and exhaustion were working in tandem to exact a heavy toll. The best thing, he thought, would be to humour Will. But then, there could be consequences later, if he broke his word and told Halt anyway. A pang like an arrow shot through him. Was it better to gently ease Will's panic now, only to upset him later, or risk whatever the result of telling him the truth would be now?

That question, as well as many others, started Gilan's hands shaking.

He had a severely injured boy- no, friend. No, brother- on his couch, possibly dying of blood loss or any other of a whole list of injuries, seen or unseen, a plea that demanded an answer sooner than he was ready to give one, Tug outside, and...

He remembered to breathe, a trembling breath though it was.

Eyes wide, Gilan exhaled again, blinking and running a hand through his hair in exasperation. Panic wasn't going to get him anywhere. He had to be calm, had to think...yes, one thing at a time, the rest would come later.

Bracing himself for the worst, Gilan knelt slowly, keeping his hands where Will could see them, lest he startle the boy. "Alright," he murmured, careful not to break eye-contact, "it's alright."

There was a pained whimper, and Will seemed to deflate, appearing smaller than ever. He shook harder, his hands held tight to his chest, and gave Gilan a long, searching sort of look. The desperation was still there, but there was something else, something Gil couldn't identify. Not quite disbelief, not quite hope...whatever it was, Gilan couldn't name it, and silently hoped he'd never see it again.

And then the crying started again.

Grimacing, Gilan moved closer, hesitantly moving to brush some hair away from Will's face, though the motion itself was choppy, like someone petting a recently tamed animal, like someone who didn't know if that animal would bolt under the touch or not. But if Will even felt it, he didn't show any sign that he had. Gil frowned, thoughts and heart racing, and allowed his fingers to lightly trace downward, thumb rubbing away some of the tears.

He wasn't sure how long it lasted, only that at some point, Will was holding his wrist like a lifeline. His eyes darkened as he surveyed the immediately visible injuries- from the torn lips to the dark bruises along Will's jaw and throat. Patches of clothing were soaked through with blood, though Gilan was beginning to feel there may be some hope that it looked or felt worse than it really was.

The moment ended when Gilan realised just how erratic Will's breathing was, despite the fact that he'd finally seemed to relax.

He dreaded what would have to come next, but getting it over with as quickly as possible would be the best thing, he thought. He closed his eyes for a long moment, only opening them again when he thought he could look at Will without breaking into tears of his own. "Will,"

There was no response.

"Hey," he whispered, leaning his forehead against his friend's and keeping his tone as soft as possible, "Will, I need you to do something for me?"

Brown eyes flicked up to meet green, and there was a glimmer of absolute terror, the slightest flinch, before Will, again, recognised him. But it wasn't really recognition. There was a blankness, now, a sort of emptiness. It looked, Gilan thought, almost like he'd simply been awake too long, like the only problem was that he was tired, or had just woken up. He struggled to speak, choking on the words the first time he tried, but Gil waited patiently, and eventually Will managed it. "W-what is?"

Gil blinked. Again, not what he'd expected Will to say. "What is what?"

A look of frustration crossed Will's face, and he breathed a little deeper, sucking in the air between clenched teeth, his chest heaving with the effort. "You...you said 'a-alright'," he replied, coughing with a soft groan, "b-but what's alright?"

Something passed between them, then. While Will could hardly muster the strength to speak, he was as articulate as ever with his eyes. In a hurt, submissive way, far from the strength and near defiance that Gil was used to, Will was daring him to lie, already knew what was going to be said and wondered if Gil would really have the audacity to say something so completely untrue.

Gilan looked away. It wasn't so much of a lie as Will thought it was. It couldn't be, not if Gil could help it. For his sake, for Will's, for Halt's, it simply had to be the truth, yet he had to confess that, when he actually said the words, there was too much sincerity for even him to believe that he really meant them.

"Everything," he breathed, "Everything's going to be alright."

* * *

A/N: Well. I hadn't originally intended to induce dental problems, but hey. If it happened, it happened.

By the way, somebody asked if I was going to include any 'drama' with Will and Gil. Well, that would depend on your definition of drama. Technically speaking, 'drama' literally means 'a thing done', so, technically speaking, anything and everything that happens, is in fact drama. Fun fact there. But, in a more helpful way:

Yes. Yes there will be drama. Lots of angst, feels, hurt/comfort, unexpected guests in the story *Including the Ranger's Apprentice character that only I love* and some shipping with Halt and Pauline. Basically, all of the things will be in here and I hope to rip out some readers' hearts, smash them into little pieces, then put them back together again at some point.

The quotations around 'drama', though, kind of give me the impression that you're wondering if there will be GilWill slash. As fun as GilWill is to say, however, the answer to that would be no. Willers and Gilan are bros, that is all.

Now, will you mob please do me the honour of reviewing, and perhaps leaving Tug an apple in those reviews? Poor dear has been through a lot, y'know. *Sage nod*


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